


Shake The Town

by SiriusBlacksCellMate (OhLovelyRose)



Category: Arrow (TV 2012), The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-26 01:11:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16671928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OhLovelyRose/pseuds/SiriusBlacksCellMate
Summary: Myths. Legends. Metahumans. What happens when they meet?Enter Timberwolf, a loud, occasionally clawed wolf metahuman. When they meet Barry Allen, their whole world is turned upside down.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This journey will include violence, death, graphic depictions of shapeshifting, and NC-17 content that will be kept in a separate work from this. I already have about 13 chapters typed up, but there's always room for improvement. Message me if you're interested in beta-reading for me!

The piercing howl shook the Central City Streets, and stopped the bank robbers in their tracks.  
  
They turn around, and come face to helmet with an unfamiliar foe.  
  
The interruption was clad in head to toe black leather, the knee high combat boots adorned with literal dog tags and bells the jacket stitched with a grey and blue wolf, golden eyes piercing with their stare.  
  
Their mask was a solid black motorcycle helmet, the top pointed into two peaks, giving a definite warning, dangerous look to the ensemble  
  
"Who are yo-"  
  
  
The helmeted figure ran at them, ignoring the incoming question, and they got the message. Half of them ran, and the others shot, albeit mostly poorly in their surprise.  
  
  
Time seemed to slow, but only for the sprinting figure. The meta took everything in, sprinting at the closest goon, who's aim seemed to be true to his target.  
  
 _Bullet. Upper left shoulder_   
  
The meta's body swivels around the bullet, kicking their targets chest, knocking him to the ground to knock him out, but no further damage besides some bruised ribs and a hell of a headache  
  
Easy work of the other goons in the building was made. and all of the hostages were in the process of being evacuated when lighting streaks through.  
  
And there stands The Flash, staring at the meta in confusion, eyes squinting, trying to see past the visor.  
  
"Who are you?" He asks, stepping forward, his vocal cords vibrating them to disguise his identity.  
  
"Hello, Flash." Their voice is mechanical, genderless, programed through the helmet to hide their voice.  
  
"A pleasure to finally make your acquaintance. Who I am... Is of no importance to you. But you can call me... Timberwolf. And you're not the only vigilante in town."  
  
The meta knew they had a very slim moment to get away, so they press their finger to the side of their helmet, lifting the visor a mere half inch.  
  
"You may want to cover your ears." The voice still came out mechanical.  
  
And then they howled. The sound shook the building, and The Flash covers his ears, dropping to the ground, and Timberwolf sees the crystalline chandelier hanging above begin to drop.  
  
Thinking fast, they sprint at The Flash, tearing him out of harm's way before sprinting out the door faster than any human, the roar of a motorcycle was heard as the dust settled, and the echoes of the howl were just whispers.  
  
The Flash runs outside, but Timberwolf was nowhere to be found.  
  
"Flash? Flash? BARRY!" Cisco yells in his ear.  
  
"Ow! Ow! Did you guys see that?" Barry asks, fiddling with his com.  
  
"Uh, yeah. Timberwolf? That's actually... Pretty awesome." Cisco replies, and from the yelp that escaped him next, Barry guessed Cait had smacked him.  
  
"I'm heading back."  
  
//////

  


Timberwolf arrives home, to the large house they'd inherited from their late grandmother.   
  
It was on the very outskirts of southern central city, where woodland began for miles. It stood three stories tall, a large glass encased porch surrounded it on two sides, and the front door leading into a grand foyer.   
  
As Timberwolf walks in, they unbuckle the strap of their helmet, and pull it off, feet of long copper hair fall to their waist, tied back into a severe plait.   
  
Revealed is a heart shaped face with full lips and high cheekbones, piercing eyes shifting from emerald to gold, before dulling into a soft, natural jade.   
  
She wasn't thin, but she liked to say she was blessed in all the right places, at 5'7" her leather pants were baggy and purposely androgynous, as were her jacket and masculine boots.   
  
She pulled off said boots, stumbling to the kitchen and letting out a long, piercing whistle.   
  
_ Thumpthumpthumpthump _ .   
  
Two massive dogs come bounding down the stairs, running at her and tackling her to the ground.   
  
The larger of the two starts sniffing her all over, before seeming satisfied.   
  
"You're not hurt. Good." The canine states solemnly.   
  
"Nye, you know I'm careful." She says, laughing and shaking her head.   
  
"Yeah, she's careful!" The smaller one yells, rolling over in her lap.   
  
"And youuu, Tyson, are not careful enough. Go pick up that cup you knocked over." Timberwolf chastises.   
  
"Yes, Clover." He whines, bounding to the cup and picking it up with his teeth.   
  
//////   
  
I guess you're wondering how I got in this situation.    
  
I am just Clover Cyprin. 25 years of age. Central City's leading coroner.   
  
At least I was until the particle accelerator exploded    
  
I was on a night jog in the small wooded park in the center of the city, directly next to S.T.A.R. Labs.   
  
I heard it, first. The rumble of the ground, the quake of the trees.   
  
And when I looked up, it was starting. And the only thing I could do was drop to the ground and cling to my dogs for dear life. The last thing I felt was our bodies being pushed, and my spine bending around a tree. The wrong way.   
  
I woke up in my own home, on my couch, as if I was tossed haphazardly, or dragged. There were small holes adorning all of my clothing. They looked like... Canine marks. Actually... I reeked of dog. I've never had that problem with the boys before.   
  
"Clover?" I hear a deep, gravelly voice speak, and jump up, looking for a weapon.   
  
"Who are you? Show yourself!" My voice wavers with fear, knees practically clattering together.   
  
From the shadows of the hall, steps Nye. He is big, and lean, but pure muscle at 110 pounds. He is giant malamute, siberian husky, and 26.7% grey wolf.   
  
"N-Nye?" I stutter, and the dog walks up to her, pressing against her leg.   
  
Nye walks up to me, and places his paw on my foot, a familiar gesture.   
  
"Hello." He speaks, but his mouth didn't move.   
  
"AHHHHHHH!!!!!" I scream, throwing myself behind the couch.   
  
"IS MOM AWAKE?" A higher, cheerier voice calls from across the house, followed by the clatter and scrape of excited nails on the hardwood.   
  
Tyson comes bounding into the room and launches himself over the back of the couch and on top of his mother, who groans in pain.   
  
" _ MOMMOMMOMMOMMOM _ !"   
  
Tyson is only about a year old, compared to Nye's four, and he is considerably smaller than the first, at 80 pounds. He was husky, german shepherd, and 20% red wolf.   
  
I crawled from behind the couch and sat down, my breathing bordering on hyperventilation, as I accidentally turn the tv on by sitting on the remote.   
  
"This just in, the chaos of the last few days has been confirmed to be the particle accelerator created by S.T.A.R. Labs exploding. It is being recommended that anyone feeling ill effects that may have been caused by this event goes to the nearest hospit-"   
  
I throw the remote at the TV in anguish, and am shocked into silence as it lodges not only into the screen, but /through/ it.   
  
"Fuck."   
  
////////   
  
Clover slowly spent the next two years hiding her meta-humanness, going to work, coming home, seeing the boys.   
  
But she was learning. She was growing stronger.   
  
Manipulation of sound waves. Heightened sight, smell, and something of a sixth sense for danger. Not to mention the strength. Agility. Perception. That's what she could do. A scream, and someone was incapacitated. A clap and they were a block away. She could catch a bird flying 20 feet above her.   
  
She went into the woods to train, where no civilians could be hurt.   
  
Tyson and Nye refused to be left behind and what they could do... They were metahuman in their own right. The talking was just the beginning.   
  
Nye could rip a tree from its roots with just his teeth, Tyson can bound up a 60 foot oak and land on the ground as if it were a curb. It was amazing. Stunning. Terrifying.   
  
She started small, learning to use her own skills to turn off lights with a directed snap or whistle,  before she realized... Her powers didn't want that. They wanted big. They wanted fast. They wanted action.   
  
It was six months until she got the hang of using her powers to help her run. The beating of her feet on the gravel road amplified as it blasts her forward, 100 meters, 200, 300, 500.   
  
It was thrilling, the adrenaline pumping through her veins like a drug. It was addicting. After that, she put more effort in, staying up later, getting up early for her paid job as Central City's leading coroner.   
  
She kept up on the news, which was usually scattered with metahuman attacks. But no savior.   
  
Until one day.   
  
The Flash.   
  
She followed his story attentively for weeks, when an idea popped into her head.   
  
She loved her real job. She loved helping solve crime, helping put bad people away.   
  
So why couldn't she do the same thing on the side? Solo?   
  
It took her over a year of planning and preparing, and she was in awe of how well the Flash was doing.   
  
He was her motivation. Her goal. She wanted to be just as good as him.   
  
It took her weeks to learn how to use her grandmother's old sewing machine, bolts of genuine leather grabbed from the attic, and the next months were spent hand-stitching and building her ensemble.    
  
The motorcycle was bought off craigslist, cash, repainted and repaired.   
  
Her helmet was the hardest part, and she shocked and jolted herself so much she bled. Which is when she saw her skin begin to repair itself. That was... New. And shocking. Shocking enough for her to put her newly finished helmet down and stare at her hands, nearly paralyzed.   
  
  
'Do I want to do this?' She asks herself silently, and catches her reflection in the visor of her helmet.   
  
Her eyes flashed gold.   
  
And thus, Timberwolf was born.


	2. Chapter 2

Barry is back at S.T.A.R. Labs in a flash, pulling his hood off and looking around.   
  
"Well, any explanation?" He inquires, and no one has an answer.   
  
"Well, he's definitely a meta, did you SEE that? He just screamed and the chandelier fell! And Timberwolf? That's an A+ name! Cisco exclaimed.   
  
"He's dangerous and must be contained." Harry warned, and Barry turned to him.    
  
"I just... I don't think he is? To us, or civilians. Did you see what he did? he saved all those people, and me!" Barry protests, but Harry won't give in.   
  
"He saved you from a chandelier HE dropped." He deadpans.   
  
Barry shakes his head and sighs, running his fingers through his hair in exasperation.   
  
"I mean, yeah. We should bring him in and question him but honestly, I could use some more meta-help out there..." He trails off quietly.   
  
Harry takes over, leaning on the desk.   
  
'Caitlin search for any noise disturbances that could be Timberwolf. Cisco, can you try and Vibe something off of Barry? Timberwolf had to touch him to save him."   
  
Cisco shrugs and walks up to Barry, who holds out his arm, and as Cisco reaches for his arm, Barry screams at him, which makes him jump and latch on.   
  
His vision goes dark, and suddenly he's in the forest. Well, a clearing surrounded by trees. It's the most realistic vibe he'd had yet.   
  
Two giant wolf-like dogs step out behind the treeline. But something's wrong. They're looking at him. Making eye contact. Their lips lifting, warning snarls escaping their throats.   
  
_ "Be gone, trespasser. Or you will never leave this place _ ."   
  
Cisco startles back to reality, dropping to the ground and scrambling backwards.   
  
"Woah, woah! Cisco what happened?" Harry says, actual concern tinting his usual apathetic tone.   
  
"He knows I can see him."   
  
  
////////////   
  
A week later, Clover steps into autopsy, covered head to toe in white scrubs, a white lab coat, black latex gloves that went to her wrist, and a full, clear face shield.   
  
She reads over the man's chart, it was descriptive and almost perfect, signed by a Mr. Barry Allen.   
  
Clover had never met or seen Mr. Allen, for her office and autopsy were in the basement, separated from the rest of the precinct and she delivered all of her reports to Singh's desk after most had gone home, but she held his reports in high regards.   
  
She begins and finishes her autopsy in reasonable time, the CSI's report being accurate as always.   
  
It was her last report of the day, and it was about the normal time everyone went home. She debated waiting the extra half hour for the crowd to clear out, before sighing.   
  
Clover was quite shy, a bit quiet, and reserved to a fault.   
  
At least, she tried to be. Clover and her sister, Clarissa were quite the hell raisers in their youths. Their parents had died in a house fire when Clover was nine and Clarissa was 14, while they were just downstairs, asleep.   
  
The neighbors had seen the fire, and it had just gotten to your room when Detective West, who just lived down the street burst in and dragged them out, coughing and yelling.   
  
He told them that their parents had fallen asleep with a candle lit, and that was it.   
  
Clover's parents weren't...good. They were neglectful and apathetic, cold. The heating and power was shut off for more than a week multiple times. She went to bed hungry a lot.   
  
They were resentful, entering their young adulthood with rock and roll, drugs, and alcohol.   
  
Clover was a hard partier, got a few tattoos, but Clarissa...went off the deep end. Hard drugs, harder men, and she scared Clover. All they did was fight, when one night Clover changed her number and never looked back. Clarissa was 21 when she had her only child, Elise. Nine years later, Clarissa and Clover have yet to even try and fix where they went wrong, though they keep semi-regular contact.   
  
  
At 17, Clover got a call from her social worker.   
  
She had a grandmother that had gotten in contact for the first time, and she was even in central city. How had they missed this?   
  
So Clover packed up and headed to her new home, cautiously excited and guarded. The woman was aging, using an intricate cane, and her home was breathtaking.   
  
Donna Rennecker. That was her name. She was sweet, kind, loving. She molded who Clover was for the next five years. She'd died four months before the particle accelerator explosion.   
  
She taught Clover to manage her anger, to use it for her schooling, to help put people away. She gave Clover a purpose.   
  
Clover snapped out of her reverie and shakes her head sharply.   
  
"No time for reminiscing."   
  
She walks up the stairs, foregoing the rickety elevator that always made her a bit queasy.   
  
As she guessed, everyone was still hanging at desks, chatting and catching up before heading home.   
  
Clover puts her head down, avoiding eye contact with everyone, until she runs into someone that was walking backwards while talking.    
  
She only stumbles slightly, but he does so more, knocking her to her rear with a huff, while he stays standing.   
  
Singh had just stepped out of his office just then, and glares at the man.   
  
"Mr. Allen can you go a DAY without causing some sort of trouble?"   
  
Everyone around them goes about their business, but Barry doesn't respond at first. He's staring at Clover, mouth agape slightly.    
  
"I-uh- I'm so sorry, here let me help you with that."    
  
He starts picking up her reports, glancing at a few of them, and grinning.   
  
" _ You're _ coroner Cyprin?" He says with a wide grin, handing her her reports back, neat and tidy as she stands up, smoothing her knee length skirt and shaking the hair that had come out of her plait.   
  
"I am. And you must be Barry Allen. I appreciate the proficiency you use when writing your crime scene reports." She says politely, with a smile that doesn't reach her eyes.   
  
"Now if you'll excuse me." She begins to step around him, when someone coughs to her right. She turns, and gives a genuine grin.   
  
"Joe, I'm so sorry I didn't see you!"   
  
"Yeah you better be. Gimme a hug."   
  
She steps into his embrace for a second and laughs softly.   
  
"It's good seeing you. Still kicking butt?" She asks while pulling away and looking up at him.   
  
"You bet. Still cutting dead people open?" His grin is full of tease, and she rolls her eyes good naturedly.   
  
"Only if you keep finding them, Detective. I've gotta go though, see you around?" She smiles as she exits quickly walking to Singh and handing him her reports, and he gives her a genuine, friendly smile.   
  
"Thank you, Clover. See you tomorrow."   
  
She turns around, and catches that split second before Barry looked away.   
  
_ 'Strange' _   
  
She places a gentle hand on his arm, catching his attention from Detective West for a moment, who smiles at her.   
  
"It was nice to finally run into you."   
She said, her smile a tad warmer, before she continued out the door.   
  
///    
  
She started running into Barry a lot, lately.    
  
Like at Jitters that next morning. He was with a dark haired hispanic man, and a pretty, smartly dressed woman.   
  
"Oh, Clover!" Barry says as he spots her, much to her dismay.   
  
"Oh, uh, hi Barry. What's up?"   
  
"Just thought you should meet my very good friends, Caitlin Snow and Cisco Ramon." He was grinning, and his intentions seemed innocent enough.   
  
Caitlin held her hand out, and you shook it gently.   
  
"Clover Cyprin, CCPD Coroner." You said, nodding professionally.   
  
" _ You're _ Coroner Cyprin? Barry used to complain SO MUCH whenever you caught a mistake in his work.!" Cisco exclaimed with a laugh, and Barry kicks him subtly, and Cisco coughs.   
  
"I mean... Uh..."   
  
Clover laughs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear and shaking her head.   
  
"Well mayyybeee Mr.Allen should pay more attention to..... Small details." She glances up at him, before grabbing her coffee.   
  
"Now Singhs' expecting me, ta-ta."   
  
And she's gone.   
  
"Wow, Barry. She's....."   
  
“Cute, Smart. Funny." Caitlin adds in with a cute grin.   
  
"Yeah." Barry says in a sigh, before they leave as well.   
  
  



End file.
